She’s from finals, but I forgot to post the picture here:
She’s from finals, but I forgot to post the picture here:
The corporate tax exam was a 3 hour typing contest. My goodness.
The semester is almost over. Tomorrow I will take my 24-hour advanced estate planning exam, which is my last final. This is more exciting than a McFlurry in July. Bam-chicka-wow!
I finally cleaned my finals-ridden apartment after my exam and then socialized with RJ and the Bretts.
We eventually end up at Brett #1’s apartment with Gumby and Gander in tow. Gumby is a random 22 year-old that Brett picked up in the bar, and Gander is one of Brett’s neighbors.
I did it – I took my 8-hour international tax law exam today! BAM-chickawow-wow!
I can’t talk too much about the exam (lest my Dean unleashes the Kraken) but I can say three things:
I took my exam at the nearby undergrad library because apparently law students need “special permission from the dean” to take law school exams in the law school library’s study rooms.
Stella and I are holed up at Starbucks studying for finals.
See, in law school Saturdays are off the chain. Behold:
How do I contain myself? Someone call Lindsay…
I think I overdid it yesterday.
Yesterday, the sweet sound of garbage trucks woke the dogs up at 5am. I walked the monsters, snuck off to the library, and took my Family Law exam at 8:30.
After the exam I channeled Jillian Michaels for two hours at the gym, walked the dogs again, and then (somehow) ended back in the library to print of copious amounts of international tax law regs.
My family law exam is done! Bam-chika-wow-wow…
Class ended (I’ll get to that later) and my first final is tomorrow.
Here are some pictures to prove that this finals season isn’t all about junkies and gloom:
The ersatz police dog:
The junkies living underneath me were evicted yesterday. The management company secretary said that booting the junkies out was a nightmare, and the building owner called and to apologize for ever renting to them.
The junkies made this semester rough. They screamed at all hours of the night, blocked and trashed the hallways, broke windows, and even fired a gun.
I’m hammering out my Family law outline when I find a snippet of Professor W among my notes:
Professor W: “It is your responsibility to tell me if you cannot hear me. My mic is not working. It doesn’t like me. It senses that I am afraid of it as a technical device and stops working just to test me. That’s just my imagination right?”
